Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor
by Sellinea Veradica
Summary: Summer is ending, and a select group of witches and wizards is waiting for chaos to ensue. Harry Potter is one of those few, but what he doesn't know is that another magical object hidden in Hogwarts could mean life or death for the few who dare to oppos
1. Default Chapter

Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor

A new school year at Hogwarts is about to begin, and a select group of witches and wizards are waiting for disaster to strike. Harry Potter is one of these few who know of the imminent return of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. He has more than enough to worry about, such as his godfather, Sirius Black, who is on the run from the Ministry of Magic, accused of a crime he did not commit. Still, he is looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, where there's plenty to keep him busy. A new teacher, new students, old enemies, and his increasingly challenging classes, for example. And just when Harry begins to relax and think that maybe, for once, nothing will arrive to disturb the relative calm at his school, he learns of a magical object that is being safeguarded at his school; an object with largely unknown powers that could be used for both good and evil. Harry knows that Lord Voldemort will stop at nothing to break into the school and obtain this mysterious device, as he attempted to steal the Sorcerer's Stone several years before. The headmaster of Hogwarts is gathering together the witches and wizards who fought against Voldermort fourteen years ago, during his first reign of power, each of whom are trying desperately to stay one step ahead of the Dark Lord and keep the ancient secret safe, but it soon becomes apparent that one has turned traitor and is passing vital information to the other side; information that could lead to the theft of what seems to be their only hope of survival. And Harry faces the growing realization that he himself holds the key to keeping it out of Voldemort's hands, even if it means putting his own life on the line in the process.


	2. Chapter One

AN:This is my version of the fifth book, Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor (begun before the title was announced), which I began writing for my brothers, who insisted on it. I have not worked on it for some time and may not finish it--however, here is the first chapter. If you like it, please review, and I may post other parts I have done, and possibly complete the book.

Disclaimer:It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter One

A Stranger on Privet Drive

Privet Drive was quiet, as usual, on a warm summer night. It was nearly midnight, and all the windows in the neat, orderly rows of houses were dark--all except one. Nothing moved in the street until, quite suddenly, a figure in a long black cloak was walking up the sidewalk. As it walked, a flash of silver was visible from under the cloak. It gazed up critically at each of the houses. When it reached the single lighted window in number four, it stopped and stared upwards. There was movement in the room beyond the window.

There was a boy in the room--short and skinny, with a mop of untidy black hair, bright green eyes, and thick-rimmed black glasses, which he had removed from his face and was rubbing absently with the sleeve of his shirt (several sizes too large for him), while pacing up and down the length of his bedroom. He sighed, and as he raised a hand to push his bangs away from his eyes, a scar was visible on his forehead--a scar shaped like a bolt of lightning.

One glance around the room would have made most people believe that Harry Potter was no ordinary fifteen-year-old boy. A large cage in one corner contained a real, live snowy owl. In the other corner was a black pewter cauldron with a stack of spellbooks inside it. A broomstick leaned against the bed, and there was what appeared to be a wand on the desk near the window.

The truth of the matter was that Harry Potter wasn't an ordinary fifteen-year-old boy. He was, as a matter of fact, a fifteen-year-old wizard, about to begin his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Actually, he wasn't even an ordinary wizard. For instance, the scar on his forehead had been given him by the dark wizard Voldemort, who had attacked Harry as a baby, killing his parents but not harming Harry in the slightest. He also had a convicted murderer for a godfather. It was that godfather Harry was worrying about just then.

Two years ago, Harry hadn't even known he had a godfather. He hadn't been ignorant for long. At first, he had believed, along with the rest of the wizarding world, that Sirius Black was a murderer who had worked for Voldemort. At the end of his third year at Hogwarts, however, he had met Sirius and learned how he was innocent, and another person was responsible for the crimes. When the real murderer escaped, it became impossible for Harry to prove Sirius' innocence, and so Sirius was forced to live in hiding. Harry had always worried slightly about him, on the run from the Ministry of Magic, but he knew Sirius could take care of himself. Now, though, Harry had cause to be anxious. He hadn't heard from Sirius for nearly a month, and last week had been Harry's birthday.

It wasn't that he was angry with Sirius for forgetting; Harry wasn't used to too many people remembering his birthday, as he had lived with his magic-hating aunt, uncle, and cousin for the last fourteen years. He was just worried that Sirius might have been caught. Harry had sent him a letter three weeks ago with his owl, Hedwig. She had returned only the previous evening, bringing the same letter back. This wasn't at all comforting. It meant that either Hedwig couldn't find Sirius (and she had never failed to deliver a letter before, even without an address), or she couldn't get to him. Harry still hadn't been able to come up with a good explanation for this; something was wrong. He just wasn't sure what.

In his hand was a scrap of parchment, which contained the most recent letter he had gotten from Sirius. It had been short, and Harry had the impression Sirius had written it in a hurry. For the hundredth time, he skimmed over it, looking for any hint of where Sirius might be.

Dear Harry,

I am writing this to let you know that, yes, I am perfectly fine and made it to Remus' house last week. Dumbledore's been keeping in touch, but there's no news so far on the present situation. Don't hesitate to send an owl if you need anything. Remus says hello.

Sirius

Harry sighed again. He wished he had someone to talk to. He reached for his cauldron, where some quills, ink, and parchment were scattered among the spellbooks. Harry smoothed out the parchment, unscrewed the ink well, dipped his quill into it, and began to write.

_Dear Ron,_ he began. Ron, his best friend from Hogwarts, would be sure to understand why he was worried. _How are you? I'm okay, except I haven't heard from Sirius in nearly a month. I sent Hedwig with a letter, but she brought it back to me yesterday. Why do you reckon she can't find him? I'm getting a bit worried. I-- _He broke off. That didn't sound right, somehow. Harry yawned widely. Maybe he'd worry about that tomorrow; he was too tired right now. He threw back the covers on his bed, and, before getting in, went over to close his window. As he pulled it down, a sudden motion caught his eye, and he reopened it again to lean out. The street was empty.

Had his imagination been playing tricks on him? He had, for a moment, thought he saw a robed figure staring up at him. Harry shook his head and blinked, but nothing was there. He should have known better. Still, he couldn't be blamed for a moment of panic. Strange things had a habit of happening to him, and it all came down to what had happened when he was just a year old....

Fourteen years ago, the magical community lived in terror of Lord Voldemort--the most powerful dark wizard of the age. He commanded a group of other dark wizards called death eaters, and Voldemort, at the height of his power, hunted down all that dared oppose him, and brutally murdered them--one by one.

Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, had been working against Voldemort at the time, forming a network of witches and wizards with Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts and one of the most renowned wizards of the age, at its head. Also included in this network were Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, the Potters' oldest friends. Dumbledore's spies had informed him that Voldemort's next target was the Potters. Immediately, it became essential that Lily, James, and Harry, who was a baby at the time, go into hiding. This wasn't easy at all. Voldemort's spies were everywhere, and so Dumbledore suggested the Fidelius Charm. This would conceal the knowledge of the Potters' whereabouts inside a single person, and Voldemort would never be able to find them--unless the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, revealed the secret to him.

Eventually, the Potters came to the decision that Sirius Black was the best person to be their Secret-Keeper, and told Dumbledore of their decision. However, at the last minute, Sirius had convinced Lily and James that Voldemort would expect that move, and Pettigrew became the Secret-Keeper instead. No-one but the Potters, Sirius, and Pettigrew knew of the change, as they didn't want to risk it leaking out to anybody. What they didn't know was that Pettigrew had long been in the employment of Voldemort, and he lost no time in informing him of the Potters' whereabouts. That night, Voldemort had shown up at Harry's house, and Lily and James had both been murdered. He had then turned to Harry and performed the same deadly curse he had just used on Harry's parents; but mysteriously, miraculously, it had failed, turning instead upon Voldemort. The curse had reduced him to something weak, powerless, and barely alive, so he had fled. Harry himself had not been harmed in the slightest, except for a the lightning-shaped scar that he still had on his forehead.

After his parents were killed, Harry was sent to live with the Dursleys--his mother's sister, Petunia, his uncle, Vernon, and his year-old cousin Dudley. His aunt and uncle had been terrified that Harry was going to become a wizard as well, as they hated anything mysterious or magical, so they hadn't told him a thing about his past. They pretended for ten years that Harry's parents had been killed in a car crash, and nearly succeeded in crushing the magic out of him, but he had learned the truth the day he turned eleven. Harry, who had been an friendless outcast as long as he could remember, suddenly not only belonged somewhere, but was famous to all members of the wizarding community. Naturally, they all knew about Harry's defeat of Voldemort--although no one dared, even then, to say that name aloud. Harry went to Hogwarts and made friends for the first time in his life, but he also came across someone else--Voldemort, weak and half-dead, depending on a faithful servant just to stay alive. Harry had managed to defeat him once again, but just last year, he had witnessed Voldemort's return to his former strength and physical body. No longer formless, the Dark Lord had once again attempted to kill Harry, but, yet again, he narrowly escaped.

Completely isolated from the wizarding world (except for his correspondence with Sirius and a few friends from Hogwarts), Harry had been on pins and needles for news about Voldemort. He hadn't heard much as of yet, but it was still frightening. Harry, of course, couldn't remember Voldemort's reign of terror, as he was only a baby at the time, but he knew enough about it to know that, now that Voldemort was back, no-one's life would be the same.

Harry rolled over onto his side. He wondered what Ron was doing now. Was he as worried as Harry was about what was going on? At least Ron would know what was happening. His parents were both wizards, so he would have no problem keeping up with the news. On the other hand, Hermione, another friend of Harry's, was Muggle born--her parents were Muggles, or non-magic people. Still, Hermione had a subscription to the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper, and would be able to keep up on everything. Harry doubted Voldemort had done anything serious so far, or Hermione and Ron would have told him. That didn't comfort him much. Sure, if the Ministry of Magic caught Sirius, the Daily Prophet was sure to say so, but that didn't alleviate Harry's worries one bit.

_Stop it_, he told himself. _You're getting paranoid._ Harry sighed, rolled over again, and forced himself to close his eyes. In a minute, he had drifted off to sleep.

Number four, Privet Drive, was now as dark as all the other houses on the street. Outside, a short robed figure took a last long look at the second-story window, and disappeared into the darkness.


	3. Chapter Two

A/N:Wow. I hadn't anticipated such a large response so quickly. Thank you all for the reviews--they were great. I now plan to finish this story, since you enjoyed it. You can imagine my surprise when I looked at my E-mail and found I had fifteen new messages--most of them reviews. My brothers will thank you, I'm sure, as they've been wanting me to get it done for quite some time. It will change a great deal during the writing, just so you know--it's hard to have a surprise ending without a lot of revision. In answer to your comments, "The Frog", I realize the POV (Point of View, for those of you who don't know the terminology) changes slightly, but JK did that herself several times in the first book. Sorry if it was confusing--it was just that I didn't want Harry to actually see the figure outside his window, and I needed the readers to know it was there. Its identity, as the reviews suggested, was fairly obvious. Also, I apologize for the reiteration of the previous books, but I was trying to make it as much like the actual book will be as I can. I must have succeeded. The compliments I got (the Jr. JK Rowling thing, etc.) were some of the best I've ever recieved. If you really like my writing that much, you may want to (subtle hint) read "Aper" by SellineaVeridaca and Rowansage, a collaborative effort between myself and a friend, and my other individual works. Thanks so much! **By the way, I decided to include a longer summary that I also wrote for my brothers. It's too long to fit in the summary lines, so I made it the new chapter one. Read it if you like.** By the way, does anyone know if the Knight Bus operates during the day?

Chapter Two

An Unexpected Arrival

Harry was awakened the next morning, as usual, by the shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia from downstairs. He sat up in bed, put on his glasses, and quickly changed into some new clothes (a horrible old green shirt that had once been his cousin's and a pair of blue jeans with waists so large about five people could have fit inside them) then hurried downstairs. Aunt Petunia was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the mail, and didn't even look up when he entered. "Get the bacon on the stove," she snapped shortly, then returned to her letter. Harry removed the bacon from the refrigerator and turned on the oven.

He had lived with the Dursleys for the past fourteen years, and every one of those had been torture. He glared silently at his aunt as the bacon began sizzling, not particularly annoyed at anything she had just done, but stressed and worried, with nothing to take it out on and nobody to talk to. Aunt Petunia didn't appear to notice. Her beady eyes were riveted on the letter in front of her, thin mouth pursed. She was a very skinny woman with a long neck and rather unpleasant, horselike face who spent the majority of her time spying on the neighbors. Her husband, Vernon Dursley, was an enormous man with a thick, bristly mustache and a very bad temper.

At that moment, a series of loud thuds shook the ceiling above Harry, slowly working their way down the stairs, and then Dudley Dursley appeared in the doorway. Dudley was a selfish, spoiled boy who was as fat as he was stupid. His parents had tried dieting the summer before, but as that had produced absolutely no effect whatsoever, they had abandoned the idea. Dudley squeezed through the doorway and seated himself laboriously on one of the four chairs at the table, which creaked loudly beneath him. He reached immediately for the remote to flip on the television set that was in the kitchen. A reporter appeared on the screen and proceeded to inform them of a fire that had broken out in London last night and that the cause was still under investigation. Dudley frowned and began to flip channels, searching until he found a station with cartoons on it.

Harry flipped the bacon neatly onto a plate by the stove, then rinsed the frying pan out. By the time he had made his toast and was mixing the orange juice, Uncle Vernon had arrived and opened a newspaper, grunting when Harry brought the food to the table. Breakfast began in silence, until Uncle Vernon threw down his newspaper and turned to Aunt Petunia.

"When ?" he asked in his usual gruff voice. To celebrate his recent promotion to vice-president of his drill company, he, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all going on a two week long cruise before Dudley went back to his private school, Smeltings. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips yet again.

"Fifth of August," she replied shortly, attention still on the mail.

Uncle Vernon nodded, then asked, "What are we going to do about _him_?" He jerked his head unpleasantly at Harry, who had been wondering for quite some time about that. He would have loved to go to Ron's house until returning to Hogwarts, but he didn't want to make any suggestions, as he was sure they would be stamped on.

Aunt Petunia's jaw stiffened slightly. "What about those people who took him last time?"

"Not if everything turns out the way it did last year," Uncle Vernon grunted, a malicious gleam in his eye. Dudley gulped and put a huge, beefy hand protectively over his mouth. Harry recalled only too well when the Weasleys had arrived last year to pick him up--Dudley had ended up with a four-foot tongue protruding from his mouth. That incident had been mostly Dudley's fault, but Harry had a feeling the Dursleys didn't quite see it that way.

"I won't have him coming along with us, Vernon."

His uncle made a face that said, quite plainly, that any thought of this was out of the question.

"I'm sure I can arrange something with the Weasleys," Harry said before he could stop himself.

The silence that followed that remark made Harry wish he hadn't spoken at all.

"You," said Uncle Vernon viciously, "will keep your mouth shut until I say otherwise. I have no intention of allowing any--anyone else like you into this house as long as I live, do you understand? Particularly those--people--who _dared_ to attack--"

"How am I going to get to Hogwarts this year, then?" Harry challenged.

"One more insolent word from you, boy, and you won't be going back this year!" he barked, the color in his face going from red to purple, and he sat down hard. This was an empty threat, Harry knew. The Dursleys were too frightened of Sirius showing up and turning them all into bullfrogs if Harry complained to him. Still, Harry thought it best not to press his luck with his uncle, and he resumed eating his bacon and toast. Dudley gave a loud belch. Aunt Petunia glanced sideways at him, then resumed reading. Harry's aunt and uncle never criticized their son. In their eyes, he was a perfect angel, although Harry considered otherwise. He was quite used to his relatives' indifference, however, and, as usual, kept his mouth shut.

"So," Uncle Vernon continued, as though there had been no interruption, "what _are_ we going to do about him?"

Aunt Petunia gave Harry a glare that seemed to say he'd caused the dilemma. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Uncle Vernon grunted as he got to his feet. "I'll get it." He walked out of the kitchen and into the entry hall.

Harry swallowed. "I--I could send a letter to the Weasleys," he tried again. "They wouldn't have to pick me up here. You wouldn't have to worry about-"

His aunt was staring down her nose at him. "You," she said with an air of finality, "will not be interfering in our plans." Harry considered arguing for a moment, but he knew there was no point. He took a drink of orange juice instead, when suddenly a strangled yell echoed down the hall. Eyes narrowed, Aunt Petunia got to her feet and went to see what was wrong, but before she had even gotten to the doorway, a tall man in gray robes with straight black hair had walked right past her. Harry choked on his orange juice.

"Sirius? What are you doing here?"

His godfather grinned broadly at him. "Thought I'd surprise you, Harry. Happy Birthday, although it's a bit late." He turned to look at the Dursleys, all three of whom were white-faced and wide eyed. Uncle Vernon had reappeared in the doorway, leaning heavily against it. "So," Sirius said jovially, "you must be Harry's aunt and uncle." He reached for Uncle Vernon's hand.

"What--just what do you think you are doing, barging in here like this?" Uncle Vernon gasped, as he had apparently just recovered the use of his voice.

"Sorry about that," Sirius said apologetically. "I know it's a bit sudden, but-"

Dudley interrupted him with a loud squeal, because as Sirius had dropped his hand, it had become apparent that he was holding a long wooden wand in the other. Aunt Petunia shrank back against the kitchen wall, staring at Sirius apprehensively.

"Anyway," he continued in a rather subdued tone, "I thought I'd come and pick Harry up. If you want to go get your things, Harry, I'd appreciate it."

Harry was still startled by Sirius' abrupt appearance, but he nodded and turned to walk towards the stairs leading to the next floor, hiding a pleased grin. This was turning out very well indeed.

It only took him a few minutes to stuff everything he owned into the large trunk and pick up Hedwig's cage. She hooted inquiringly at him from her position at the head of his bed before flying up to perch, rather painfully, on his shoulder. He gave the trunk a great heave, and it slid across the floor. He grimaced--it seemed rather heavier than he remembered.

Sirius appeared at the door, obviously attracted by the sounds of scraping on the floor. "Need a hand?" he asked sympathetically. Harry nodded gratefully, but caught his breath when Sirius reached for his wand.

"No!"

His godfather stared at him, completely nonplussed. Harry hurried to explain.

"The last time somebody used magic in my house, the Ministry sent an owl and I almost got expelled. I will if it happens again--and it wouldn't be a good if a Ministry official walked in here and saw you."

Sirius nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "What were you doing using magic, then?"

"It wasn't me. It was--oh, never mind. It's a long story. I'd better explain sometime when the Dursley's aren't waiting downstairs. Haven't they called the police yet?"

Sirius dropped his grin for a completely innocent expression. "I told them it wouldn't be a good idea to try anything like that. I meant it for my own sake, but I think they took it as some sort of threat--I couldn't imagine why." He grabbed one end of Harry's trunk and set the cage on top, motioning for Harry to take the other end. He did so, and together they managed to haul his things out of the room and down the stairs.

The Dursleys, it turned out, had locked themselves in the broom cupboard. At least, that was what Harry assumed they had done, because of the noises coming from inside it, consisting mostly of frightened squeals. He was surprised they had all managed to fit in, considering the size of Dudley's bulk.

"See you next summer!" he called cheerfully before following Sirius outside. Aunt Petunia let out a quivering shriek at the sound of his voice. Sirius let the door slam shut, walked down with Harry to the side of the street, and set the trunk down on the sidewalk.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I almost think they weren't pleased to see me."

"Sirius," Harry said immediately, "what are you doing here? I thought you were still on the run."

"I am, of course."

"Why didn't you get my last letter?"

His godfather's mouth twitched. "It's an even longer story, I think, than the one you said you'd tell me. Let's just say I wasn't here to receive it. In fact, I wasn't anywhere to receive it for quite some time. I've been very busy lately."

A/N:For an explanation, see "When In Rome," which, incidentally, isn't completed yet. The explanation will come eventually if you read that story and if I ever finish it.

"What are you talking about, Sirius?"

Sirius shook his head. "I'm not allowed to give out all the details, but Remus and I were doing a bit of time traveling. Anyway, that's not important at the moment. I'm supposed to take you to the Weasleys'."

"Really?" Harry could think of no other place he'd rather spend the rest of the summer. "How are we getting there?"

"The Knight Bus. You know how to call it?"

"Yeah, I've done it before. But what about you?"

"I don't think anyone's going to recognize me." He had a point. Harry's godfather was looking much different than he had when he had first seen him, thin and unwashed, after escaping prison. "Still, I'm taking precautions."

Sirius demonstrated these simply by transforming into a large, shaggy black dog, completely ignoring the fact that he was currently in the middle of a Muggle town. Harry supposed that, when you're on the run from the Ministry of Magic, little things like that weren't too important. He shrugged, grinned to himself at the wonderful abruptness of this whole thing, and waved his right hand in front of himself as though hailing a taxi.

A large, purple, double-decker bus roared around the corner as though it had come from nowhere (hidden, he knew, from Muggle eyes), screeching to a halt in front of them. A tall boy, several years older than Harry himself, leapt out and took a deep breath. Before he could begin the usual speech Harry knew he was about to start, he jerked his head over in Harry's direction.

"Neville!" he said in surprise. "Good to see you!"

Harry deliberately ignored the quizzical look coming from the dog next to him. There was a perfectly good reason why Stan Shunpike, the Knight Bus' conductor, knew him as Neville, but that was yet another long story.

"Hello, Stan. I'm going to the Burrow--do you know where that is? I don't know the town."

"Oh, sure. The Weasleys' place, right? They use the Knight Bus all the time. That'll be twelve sickles. That your dog, Neville?"

Harry glanced down at Sirius. "Er...not exactly. I'm taking care of him for a friend."

"Right, then," Stan replied, picking up one end of Harry's trunk and shoving it into the bus. "Animals are two sickles extra, so that'll be sixteen fer all three of you. Hop on in, then."

Harry did so, careful to nod in greeting at Ern, the bus' driver, and then looked over at the benches lining the walls. Last time he'd ridden the Knight Bus, there had been beds instead of seats, but that had been very late one evening.

There were just as few people on the bus, he noticed, as there had been before. After handing the silver coins to Stan, he and Sirius took their seats across from a very sick-looking witch and wizard, both of whom were grasping the armrests on the benches as hard as they could. Harry carefully did the same, bracing himself as the bus jerked violently. The scenery outside disappeared and was replaced by a country village. The bus continued to roar haphazardly across the streets, veering from side to side as the curb, grass, and anything else beyond the road rippled out of the way.

The entire trip was extraordinarily uncomfortable. Sirius looked even more so, curled up as he was on the bench and sliding slightly from side to side whenever the bus's lurching grew particularly violent. All in all, Harry was exceedingly grateful when the bus finally took a last jump and landed itself in front of a tall building that had mismatched shutters, was badly in need of a paint job, and leaned oddly to one side, as though about to fall over.

Harry knew better, of course. He said his goodbyes to Stan and Ern, grabbed his trunk, and jumped out of the bus, Sirius and Hedwig following him. He turned and watched the bus until it disappeared as suddenly and easily as it had appeared on Privet Drive.


End file.
